What We Do Is Blank
Blank Dogs / The Soft Moon / Apse @ some basement in Wallingford, CT – January 29, 2011
Note to self: now that you’re on the wrong side of 30, you’re not going to be able to get away with standing on a concrete floor for upwards of three to four hours unless you want to experience excruciating & obnoxious back pain for the next week. Sit your old ass down next time and take a load off, if only for a few minutes. (And maybe consider lightening the load before you’re too old to move.) But anyway, three bands in a basement that was barely big enough to hold the bands and about twenty audience members. (This was a “secret” show, most likely due to some bourgie laws or something, but the fact that the joint was struggling to find room for all the equipment might’ve been another reason to keep things on the down-low.)
Semi-local group Apse (I think they’re half-based in CT, half-based in Brooklyn) is the sort of outfit whose records don’t do them justice. Their sort of mostly-instrumental music (think of pre-IDM Radiohead or Doves, but more spacious and spaced out) sounds great bouncing off the walls of a 10 x 10 cellar. On album, however, they seem to emphasize the more diffuse elements of their sound (the guitar tapestries and the vocals) at the expense of giving their low end any play. I recognized a couple of their songs (though don’t ask me to name them), and the more pronounced presence of the rhythm section did those tracks wonders. If any band would benefit from booking time with the proprietor of Electrical Audio, it’d be these guys. (Please note that I’m the sort of guy that’ll give any half-ass band the benefit of the doubt if they claim their album was “recorded at Electrical Audio while Steve Albini was upstairs chasing a runner runner flush draw all-in on Full Tilt.”)
Full disclosure / self-aggrandizing aside: my first Manic Productions show (the local fun-loving CT crew that also put on this gig) was a Zombi show at a Wallingford VFW hall six years ago that Apse opened. I was smitten with their set, and went to the merch table to see if they had swag; they didn’t, but the dude behind the table saw me jotting notes down between sets, and asked if I was a writer of some sort. I mentioned that I wrote for Pitchfork (& this was back when I actually, like, actually wrote for Pitchfork) (as in on a semi-regular basis), & I guess members of the band overheard me mention that.
As I’m leaving the parking lot (or trying to; space was tight), members of the group actually ran out of the hall to stop me & hand me a CD-R of their then-upcoming EP. & even though they were playing a basement show, they’ve recorded two albums (and another EP that’s available for free on their website), and they’ve toured Europe and played at an ATP festival since my run-in with them way back when, so things seem to be going pretty well for them, & I can only hope for more success in the future. (Of course, such is the power of Pitchfork that I’m taking full credit for any success they’ve realized, despite having never written a thing about these guys until now. Look upon my etc.)
The Soft Moon are a trio I’ve never knowingly heard before, but seeing the lead guitarist in a Screamers t-shirt seemed like a good sign. Their recordings definitely show that the t-shirt’s not there for show; they don’t wild out like Tomata Du Plenty, but there’s definitely a kinship between them. And if the shirt wasn’t there to spell it out for me, the armada of Moogs at their disposal might’ve clued me in. They weren’t band, but they did come off as a little samey – one guy coaxes a spooky groove from his synth bank, the bassist does his best Peter Hook, and the guitarist plays a little figure while speak-singing something that I couldn’t make out. I was pleasantly surprised, after giving their MySpace page a spin, that their recorded output offers a little more clarity and variety.
If I was reminded of anything during Soft Moon’s set, it was the show’s final band, Blank Dogs. At least, Blank Dogs’ music before their last album, Land and Fixed. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how their music, which seemed like something purely studio-bound, would translate to a live setting. Happily, my doubts were answered; they managed to spit out faithful versions of their wax tracks that ably straddled the line between sloppy and loose. They seemingly teetered on the flubbing-up brink more than a few times, but always managed to right themselves.
In addition, whether it’s by accident or design, their current configuration is as interesting to watch as to hear. There’s Mike Sniper, rocking a hoodie and hiding his face while whipping out Andy Gill-esque guitar riffs. There’s the guy to his left (Craig Mileski) sporting some huge headphones and working a seemingly jerry-rigged multi-tiered bank of electronic instruments of various vintage while offering occasional back-up vocals; he was especially adept at working some theremin-like apparatus that issued sparky drum hits every time he moved his hand near the antenna.
To Sniper’s right, there’s the second guitarist (Pamela Garavano-Coolbaugh), a slender woman with long black hair that, when working either her guitar or the keyboard next to her, hunched over in such a way that her face (and often her hands) would be totally obscured by her hair. During songs, all you’d really see is her feet, her legs, her back, and her hair slowly swaying as she rocked back and forth, intently playing whatever part she was meant to play. And there was no gristle on their set; just one song after another, including a few from the new album that I was pleasantly surprised I recognized. Shame on me for my preconceived notions, but Blank Dogs put on a damn fine show.
